



■t^r^ .V'^^^ia'- •>--,i*' -'4m^^^\ '-^^.ft 




o V 









4 o 







EARLY VERSES 

OF 

WILLIAM PAYNE BLAKE 

i860 TO 1866 



i 



BOSTON 
PRIVATELY PRINTED 

MCMXX 



^^^'^ 






COPYRIGHT, 1 921, WILLIAM PAYNE BLAKE 



THREE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED 



iw* frotv 



MCGRATH-SHERRILL PRESS : BOSTON 



TO MY OLD FRIEND 

SCHOOLMATE AND CLASSMATE 

CHARLES EDWIN STRATTON 



T HAVE decided to publish these early 

versesy written by me between the ages ■* 
fourteen and twenty y for private distribu- 
tion y because I believe that they have at least • 
the right to exist y and because 1 do not wish 
them to be wholly forgotten by my friends 
and classmatesy to whom I owe so much 

happiness, 

W. P. B. 

December y 1920 



A TRANSLATION OF ODE IX 

First Book of Horace 

Uides ut aha stet ni've candidum Soracte 

Written for a boys' paper about i860, printed in connection 
with a Charity Fair in the old Boston Music Hall. The 
original was lost, and a second verse is added, to supply one 
that is missing 

SoRACTE*s peak is white with snow, 

The trees yield to its force, 
The river now has ceased to flow. 

Arrested in its course. 

Then heap the logs upon the fire, 

Its influence is benign ; 
Grant, Thaliarchus, our desire. 

And pour out Sabine wine. 

Let none reflect or seek to know 

About their future state. 
But join the dance and games of chance. 

While it is not too late. 

Through the delightful days of youth 

Be happy while you may. 
Too soon gray hairs and carking cares 

Will tell of your decay. 

Then take a ring from the gentle hand, 

A bracelet from the arm. 
Or steal a kiss, far greater bliss. 

Despite their feigned alarm. 

Heap on more wood, the storm is fierce. 

The tempest rages higher, 
But we'll not mind the storm and wind 

While sitting 'round the fire. 



[ 9 ] 



A SCHOOLBOY'S IMITATION 
FROM MACAULAY 

An episode in Mr. Papanti's Dancing Class, about i860 

Cordelia's brow was sad, 

Cordelia's speech was low, 
And darkly looked she at the boys, 

Then fearfully spake so : 

"They will be choosing partners 

Before my Bob comes here, 
And, if I cannot dance with him, 

I shall shed many a tear. 

"The Gormandizer 's taken, 

And my Medusa, too. 
And if my Bob does not come soon, 

I sha'n't know what to do." 

Then up came Hunty Wolcott, 

With a smile upon his face. 
And "Will you dance with me?" he said. 

With most entrancing grace. 

"No, I'm engaged," replied she. 

Shaking her curls so brown. 
And swiftly he departed, 

Amazed at her frown. 



But Bob 's at home upon his bed. 
And medicine must take. 

All for a moment's pleasure. 
For Guava jelly's sake. 



|,o 



NARCISSUS 

About i860 

An imitation of the wonderful poem of Thomas Moore 
When Hylai was sent with his urn to the fount 

First Verse 

When youthful Narcissus bent over the 
stream, 
And smiled at beholding so lovely a face, 
Though bright and deceitless the image did 
seem. 
It swiftly eluded his amorous chase. 

Second Verse 
(Recently added) 

Ah, many there are who, beguiled by ro- 
mances. 
Have thoughtlessly squandered the days 
of their youth. 
Tempted by charming but treacherous 
fancies, 
Forgetting to walk in the pathway of 
truth. 



["] 



THE CHARGE OF THE TWO TUTORS 

1863 

A paraphrase from Tennyson, describing a forbidden footbaU 
game on the evening of Bloody Monday 

For the Institute of 1770 
(With a change in the last verse) 

Through the yard, through the yard, 

Into the Delta, 

Driving the Sophomores off helter-skelter, 

Aiming at every man, like the sharp- 
shooters, 
Into the scrambling crowd 

Dashed the two tutors. 

Sophs to the right of them. 
Sophs to the left of them, 
Sophs right before them 

Volleyed and thundered. 
Theirs not to question why. 
Theirs not to make reply. 
Theirs but to do or die ; 
Into the scrimmages. 
Heedless of damages, 

Onward they blundered. 
Stormed at with many a curse, 

"Go to the crows!" — or worse, 

Right through the scrambling crowd. 

Onward they blundered. 
Seeing stout Andy Bates, 
Each sober man debates. 

Whether or no 
'T would be discreet to beat 
Swiftly a safe retreat. 
Through quiet Kirkland Street, 

Far from the foe. 



Even the safe Freshmen stared, 
Wondering how they had dared 

Brave such a doom; 
Sure Bates would recognize 
Them by their nose or eyes, 
Handsome or otherwise, 

Seen in his room. 

Then Andy left the game, 
And Hudson did the same; 
When they had every name. 
Taking their lists with them. 
Homeward they blundered. 

Stormed at with many an oath. 
Aimed freely at them both, 
They who had "done so well" 
Dashed from the mouth of hell, 
Alias the football game; 
Back to the yard they came. 
Taking their lists with them 
Homeward they blundered. 

Sophs to the right of them. 
Sophs to the left of them. 
Sophs right behind them 
Volleyed and thundered. 

Honor our class so bold. 
Long shall this tale be told ; 

We never blundered. 
When shall our glory fade? 
Oh, the wild charge we made. 

With our one hundred! 



[Ml 



SONG FOR THE 

SOPHOMORE CLASS SUPPER 

1863 

Two happy years, scarce passed away, 
Have bound us heart to heart. 

Two more remain before the day 
When we shall have to part. 

But let no thought of parting come 

Upon us here tonight, 
Our thoughts incline to mirth and wine. 

Our visions all are bright. 

The present hour is full of joy, 

The future bright and fair, 
So let our mirth have no alloy. 

Our hearts no thought of care. 

And if we must have hours of grief 

And pain in future life. 
The thought of this short hour of bliss 

Will nerve us for the strife. 

When in the maze of life we meet. 

Our hearts still firm and true 
With (friendly) feeling then shall beat 

As warm as now they do. 

We shall behold these happy years 

Which now so quickly pass. 
While memory hears our hearty cheers 

For our (beloved) class. 

On her bright fame we all rely. 

On that our hopes we fix. 
We'll shield her name, we'll guard her fame. 

Our own dear Sixty-Six. 

[Hi 



INDIAN SUMMER 

1865 

Written for the Hasty Pudding Club 
An experiment in anapests 

Many weeks ago we bade good-bye 

To the summer skies and the summer 
flowers, 
The winds have wailed with many a sigh, 
The heavens have wept with copious 
showers. 

The leaves have dropped from the shivering 
trees 

To the hard cold breast of Mother Earth, 
And rustled down in the eddying breeze. 

Back to the soil that gave them birth. 

But just as Winter had raised his hand 
To usurp once more his cruel sway. 

Fair Summer again assumed command. 
And wafted his death-bearing breezes 
away. 

Once more the earth is soft and bright. 
Once more the air is crisp and clear. 

The faltering earth awakes in delight. 
And wipes away gladly the falling tear. 

'T is often thus in our mortal life. 

When our hopes and joys are all departed. 

And in the whirl of the tedious strife 
We grow distressed and feeble-hearted. 



[Ml 



Our vanished joys come back again, 
And all for a time is fresh and fair; 

We forget our wearisome trouble and pain, 
We cast aside our burden of care. 

What though these joys, so fresh and bright. 
In one short hour may fade away, 

We will not think of the coming night. 
But bask in the sunshine while we may. 

Then gladly we welcome these beautiful 
hours. 
Gladly our songs in their praise we sing; 
Would we could twine a fair garland of 
flowers 
For the gay wedding of Winter and 
Spring ! 



(.6 1 



REMORSE 

1865 

He is vanished forever, the man who de- 
ceived me, 
Vanished, escaped from his desolate maid. 
Much has he wounded me, bitterly grieved 
me. 
Left me forgotten, and left me betrayed. 

Ahim^, Ahim"fe, over the river 
Sparkle the sunbeams ever and ever ; 
Ahim&, Ahim^, over my spirit 
Sparkle no sunbeams ever to cheer it. 

Way, far away, by my own native river 
Passed I my childhood in innocent play. 

Would I had always remained there, and 
never 
Fled with my treacherous lover away! 

Ahim§, Ahimd, where are the hours 
I passed in my innocence, laden with 

flowers? 
Ahime, Ahim^, vanished forever. 
Never to come again, never, ah, never. 



[n] 



GOOD NIGHT 
1865 

A pleasant smile lit up her face 

And sparkled in her eye, 
And yet I had a vague idea 

I heard a smothered sigh. 

And as I slowly turned to go, 

She rose, to my delight, 
And in her voice of silvery tone 

She softly said, "Good Night." 

Those simple words, oh, what a thrill 

They sent into my heart! 
Alas, I only was the more 

Unwilling to depart. 

Her voice had never seemed so sweet. 
Her sparkling eyes so bright. 

As when with her entrancing smile 
She softly said, "Good Night." 

Why does the bow that spans the sky 

Shine with a lovelier ray 
And purer blended colors, when 

About to fade away? 

Why do the white swan's sweetest notes 

Re-echo down the shore, 
Just as the time is drawing near 

When they '11 be heard no more.? 



[18] 



Why do the brightest colors tinge 

The radiant western sky, 
Just as the sun inclines below 
The purple canopy? 

And when a young man gets up to go, 

Is it in love or spite 
That a maiden smiles her sweetest smile. 

Just as she says "Good Night"? 



I '9] 



MOONLIGHT 

Written for a song of W. P. B. 
1866 

From out my lofty window 

I watch the night serene; 
The moon has filled the summer sky 

With radiant silver sheen. 
And here I think of thee tonight 
In the beautiful moonlight. 

Ah, what a heavenly silence 
Now rests o'er vale and hill ; 

The balmy breath of eve is hushed, 
The forest birds are still. 

And here I think of thee tonight 

In the beautiful moonlight. 

Oh, my love, from out thy window 

Art thou not gazing too ? 
Thou seest the radiant summer night, 

Thou seest the heavens so blue. 
Ah, dost thou think of me tonight 
In the beautiful moonlight ? 



3477-155-1 



CO 



^' 




^^0^ 







/"-^ 

















^°r^. 







•n-d< 



^4 o 






*- o 








>°-n^ 










A? '^ *■ - • V 







